


Caramel Machiato

by devbneo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Drinking, F/F, Partying, Sorry Not Sorry, dorks being dorks, everyone being queer, trash title
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 07:45:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2804897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devbneo/pseuds/devbneo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Teen Wolf FemSlash Holiday Fic Exchange.<br/>Malia Tate is the hot new work study student working at the campus coffee shop.<br/>Kira Yukimura is spending too much money at said campus coffee shop.<br/>Cora Hale is pretty much done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caramel Machiato

**Author's Note:**

  * For [webofdreams89](https://archiveofourown.org/users/webofdreams89/gifts).



> Hey everyone! This is for the TW Holiday Fic Exchange! This is for the lovely Webofdreams89, who has no idea how much I read through her batfamily tag. I hope everyone likes this.

“Carmel Macchiato,” grunted the beautiful, amazing, and probably very straight barista as she slammed the paper cup in front of Kira and walked away without a glance in her direction. Malia totally missed the little wave Kira tried to send in her direction. Cora snorted from the seat across the table.

Kira tried to pass it off as fixing her hair. 

Cora rolled her eyes.

“Why do you have to have the biggest boner on the most emotionally thick lady on this whole campus?” Cora inquired, cocking an eyebrow and grabbing the coffee cup to steal a sip.

“Platonic friend crush,” Kira corrected, grabbing her coffee from her irritatingly right roommate. Not about the boner. Which did not exist. She was right about Malia Tate being totally unaware of Kira’s feeble attempts to grab her attention. 

Kira wasn’t obsessed. That’s not how she would put it. It was really all Cora’s fault anyway. Two months ago Kira first met her new roommate, the ever mysterious Cora Hale. Unlike literally every other freshmen who stalked their new living partners on Facebook before arriving at university, Cora wasn’t on any type of social media (which Kira spent hours double, triple, quadruple checking, googling every variation of Cora and Hale she could think of. Her parents were very patient Kira’s moaning that only serial killers didn’t leave electronic trails in 2014 and how she was probably going to get murdered within a week). So when they first met, Kira knew absolutely nothing about her new roommate. So she went on the gut decision that every college kid must like coffee (they were in college now, that’s some sort of prerequisite right?) and offered to pay for their first cup at the campus coffee shop just a few buildings down.

And that was when Kira first laid eyes on Malia. 

(When they got back to their room and started to unpack, Cora kept saying how adorable it was to see Kira literally have heart eyes and they absolutely cannot go back there unless she can reign in the ogling, to which Kira indigently sputtered and stammered.)

(Despite Kira’s meager attempts at not ogling, they go back every day.)

“Listen, Cora, I don’t like-like her,” Kira mumbled, popping off the plastic lid off of her coffee and letting the steam hit her face. 

“You know, she is a freshmen, so you could –“

“She is?” Kira interrupted, her voice going up an octave higher than she’d ever admit. Kira pegged Malia as at least a sophomore, probably a junior.

“You aren’t serious right?” When Kira pointedly avoided her gaze, Cora groaned and started tapping out her syllables on the vibrantly orange plastic table between them. “Oh god, Kira you’ve been lusting after Tate’s ass for weeks and you didn’t even know her class year?”

Kira learned that Cora isn’t the only 18 year old who doesn’t have a Facebook and isn’t (probably) a serial killer. After much exasperated sighing and Cora throwing several pillows at her head, Kira had found out exactly zero things about Malia via Facebook, Google, and freaking Linkdin. The only reason she knew her name was because she had a name tag on her apron. 

“Kira, you realize she’s has a work study, right? That’s why she works at the campus café? Only freshmen or desperate upperclassmen who are trying to date freshmen work for food service,” Cora normally didn’t indulge in Kira’s not-pining, but clearly dangling insider Malia Tate information was too much to pass up. Cora started to poke her piece of semi-stale banana bread she bought when Kira ordered, and continued. “Anyway you could ask her to the freshman ball.”

Kira’s could feel her face turning a vibrant red. “I can’t”

“Why not, Prince Charming?”

“Cora, come on, I . . . I don’t exactly swing that way,” Kira said mostly to her hands, as she refused to look up at her smug roommate.

“Oh please, don’t be a closet case.”

Kira sternly continued expecting her hands and fiddling with the cup holder on her coffee.

“I can never understand why straight people are so adamant of their straightness”

“Listen, you can’t . . . wait. Aren’t you . . .” Kira felt like a light bulb just flicked on in her head. 

“Please don’t lump me with heterosexuals.” 

“Oh my god, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to assume or anything,” Kira said, tripping over herself.

“Don’t make this weird,” Cora said, sighing. “Listen, we’re invited to my brother’s party this weekend. Malia is going to be there since she used to date my brothers not-boyfriend in high school apparently. And I know she knows no one else on campus, especially no one who will get her booze. You’re going.”

“What,” Kira hissed as Cora pointedly ignored her and slid her chair back to get up.

“Kira, I am a broke college kid. I don’t have the money to spend 4.25 on coffee and stale pastries every day because you can’t get over your straightness,” and with that, Cora walked out of the café, leaving Kira to scramble to get her jacket on to follow as she repeated Cora’s declaration in her head. 

Because Malia Tate was defiantly going to be there.  
-  
Malia Tate defiantly wasn’t here. 

Cora also abandoned Kira on her brother’s beat up plaid coach that was probably a street pickup from U-Haul day. Well, first she shoved a solo cup in her hand full of some foul smelling greenish-blue alcoholic drink and then went to go find her brothers-not-boyfriend and his best-girl-who-is-just-a-friend-and-is-a-smokin’-hot-ginger because she wants to score tonight and will not be brought down by Kira’s sulkiness.

Cora’s words, not hers.

So Kira was stuck on a coach that has seen better days, trying to sip her solo cup without gagging, and ignoring the thirty odd other people whom she had never seen before in her life. Except for maybe a few people in her Intro Econ class. Like Mason . . . and Liam? She really had no idea. 

Kira was engaging in a mental tug of war between trying to talk to the other freshmen here on the off chance they’d remember her face and ditching Cora and leaving, when someone collapsed on the couch cushion next to her. 

Of course it was Malia Tate.

And she was looking at Kira. 

“Do I know you?” she asked.

Kira tried her hardest not to pass out.

“Um . . . you work at the café . . . right?” That sounded nonchalant.

“Yeah, you come in every day,” Malia said with a slight nod. 

“Yeah,” Kira said, starting to panic. What does she say? How does she engage? 

There was a beat of silence before Kira tried to drown herself in her drink. She tossed back her cup and inhaled the rest before promptly dissolving into a coughing fit. 

Malia bit back a snort, before downing her drink as well. Unlike Kira, Malia smoothly swallowed the entire cup of liquid in a few gulps. Kira tried not to whimper behind her hands as she watched Malia’s throat.

“Do you want another one?”

“Huh?” Kira asked, feeling lost for a moment as her gaze lifted from the tanner girl’s neck to her eyes. 

Malia raised in eyebrow. “Another drink?”

“Oh! Yeah,” and before Kira could say anything else, Malia sprang up off the couch again and disappeared. 

Kira allowed herself thirty seconds of hyperventilating before attempting to regain her composure. If only Cora could see her now! She’d be so proud. A whole ten words have been exchanged and Kira   
hadn’t thrown up all over herself or Malia. She’d call that a win. Now she only needed a way to keep her talking. 

Then, Kira suddenly saw Malia’s black and yellow shirt with the bat-symbol on it as she elbowed through the throng of college students on her way to the couch, and she saw her way in.

“Do you like Batman?” Kira blurted out, taking the cup from Malia as she sat down again.

Malia looked down at her shirt. “Oh, this isn’t mine. Stole it from Stiles.”

Kira nodded, pretending to know who that was, and tried not to panic at her backfired plan.

“Anyway,” Malia continued. “I’m more of a Superman person myself.”

“What? No! Batman would totally kick Superman’s butt!” Kira blurted out, knee-jerkingly defending her favourite man in tights . . . before a blush crept up her neck. 

Malia then turned her whole body towards Kira, crossed her legs under her, and then rolled her eyes so hard they almost fell out of her sockets. Kira took that as an invitation to argue the point.

In the next hour, yelling over the music while downing two more solo cups each, Kira learned that Malia thinks that Batman is a twat who just uses his money to be better than everyone else, her favourite Robin is Jason Todd, she likes early 2000s better than 1990s Superboy, and she has a large theory that Supergirl and Stephanie Brown’s Batgirl are basically giant lesbians for each other.

 

Kira has disagreed with everyone one of her opinions.

 

Kira thinks she might be a little bit in love.

 

Right when Malia flawlessly transitions in to ranting about the New 52, Kira realizes several things at once; she has had one too many sips of booze, she leaning on Malia’s side, and she really, really wants to kiss her. 

 

Kira would like to think she decided her next several actions with a clear head, but honestly, the next morning she could barely recall why she leaned over at that moment and tried to kiss Malia. Looking back, even if her motivations were unclear, Kira was fully impressed with herself that when she completely missed Malia’s mouth and her lips landed on the corner of her chin, her drunken self decided to roll with it and not roll off the couch in embarrassment. Instead, she kissed up Malia’s jaw, ran her fingers through the other girl’s hair, and when Malia roughly grabbed Kira’s face and smashed their lips together, Kira eagerly returned it. 

The rest was a little blurry. She remembers being on Malia’s lap at one point, closely followed by collapsing sideways onto the cushions, brining both of them down. She remembers giggling so hard she forgot how to breathe. She recalls Cora shaking her shoulder, whispering congrats on the bisexuality before handing Kira and Malia two more drinks. She remembers hair pulling and butt grabbing and cat calls from some of the frat boys because they never actually moved from Cora’s brother couch.

Kira, as she foggily rubs her eyes, realizes what she can’t remember is getting home. Grunting a bit and wiggling around on her bed, she kept trying to recall little details from last night; how soft Malia was, how the other girl snuck a hand up her shirt, and in a moment of drunken bravery, how Kira wiggled a tentative hand down the other’s pants. 

As she did, though, she felt rough fabric on her face and a familiar groan underneath her. Her eyes shot open, jerking sharply upright. She would have fallen off the bed if not for the arms snaked around her waist. Kira looked down and saw Malia side spooning her in the close courters of last night’s couch. Malia nuzzled her face closer into her side and tightened her grip. 

Kira’s jaw dropped.

“About time you woke up,” came a grumpy voice from behind her. Kira craned her neck to peek behind her and saw the guy who presumably owned the apartment, Cora’s older brother. Who was currently shirtless and in sweatpants with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. He also had a cutting scowl carved into his face. 

“Oh. Um. Sorry?” Kira tried as Malia gave a roaring snore from her side. 

“Can you get off my couch,” he said, coming over and sat on the arm of the couch. While maintaining his stoic face, the older brother leaned over and ran a finger down Malia’s foot. 

“Shit!” Malia screeched, jerking awake while attempting to kick the boy in the stomach. “Damn it Derek, let a girl sleep off her hang over.”

She then proceeded to burrow herself into Kira’s stomach.

“Malia, take your fling out of my apartment,” Derek grumbled, grabbing Malia’s kicking feet and throwing them away from him. 

Despite some fumbles, blushes, and more Malia grumbling and swearing at the Hale brother (and she leaned in close to Kira’s ear and whispered that Derek probably had blue balls because her Stiles defiantly didn’t stay the night), the two finally managed to make it outside of the apartment. Loitering in front of the apartment building, Malia grabbed Kira’s hand.

“I’m not sure if we ever got to this last night, but I’m Malia,” she said with a small smile.

“I know,” Kira blurted before cringing. “Pretend I didn’t say that? I’m Kira.”

Malia just grinned more. “I know.”

“Really?” Kira squeaked. 

“Yeah, Cora told me a last night. She also gave me your number.”

Kira groaned. 

Malia laughed for a split second before pausing before taking her phone out of her back pocket and tapping a few times before shoving it back in. 

“Now you have mine,” she winked as Kira’s phone buzzed from her own pocket.   
-  
Cora nearly punched the air when Stiles texted her, ranting about how his ex-girlfriend had better luck in same-sex affairs than he did.

It was a very busy night for her, and she deserves a small celebration. Matchmaking, heavy petting with Lydia Stiles, and poking fun at Stiles . . . And finally, she can blow off Kira's instance of coffee every morning. Cora never really like Caramel Machiato's anyway


End file.
